Memoirs and morsels from home and abroad

ritual

It might be because I bought a huge bag for a certain salad that I’ve made several times in the past few weeks.

I keep a jar of these beauties on my coffee table and my friends and I scoop out a handful or two at a time.

Shelling them is half the fun. There’s the plip-plop of each shell half falling into the bowl, their sounds dampened as the empty shells pile up. Then the undivided attention we pay to one another as the repetitive activity occupies our hands but frees up our minds to focus on what we’re talking about. Finally the satisfaction of reward for work done.

After the shelling, there’s the eating. There’s the layer of salt that gets you salivating. Then the dusky purple papery skin that slips and slides between your teeth. Finally the bright green kernel that rolls around sweet and unctuous on your tongue and yields to a gentle bite.

It reminds me of the Israeli ritual of sitting around a few cups of mid-day or after-dinner coffee, kibbutzing about the day’s news while pausing every few seconds to pop another sunflower seed into your mouth, crack the hull between your teeth, find the seed meat inside, and casually drop the remains into the napkin lining your palm.

During these hazy hot humid days punctuated by flash storms, the pistachio shelling ritual is soothing, the plip-plop echoing the rain drops outside.

But there are only so many pistachios that one girl can eat before starting to think about baking. Especially this girl. Especially on a rainy day.

And so, with pistachio on the brain and a few hours until the rain lets up, I sit and I shell and I skin and I toast and I chop.

Then I mix and I sprinkle and I bake and I slice and I bake and I cool.

And I crunch away. And the rain stops.

Pistachio rose biscotti

These biscotti are inspired by the flavors of baklava, studded with toasted pistachio and tinged with rose water. You can buy pre-shelled pistachos to simplify this recipe, but I find the act of shelling and skinning the pistachios very soothing. (I found a cool trick to remove the skins from pistachios and almonds by soaking in hot water for a few minutes.) Do whatever is easiest for you. I adapted this recipe from one for biscotti di Prato in Lou Seibert Pappas’ Biscotti(you might remember seeing these cookies on here before). The rose flavor is very subtle and next time I make these, I’ll amp it up to 1 1/2 or 2 teaspoons of rose water.

Shell. Remove the pistachios from their shells. You should end up with about one cup (assuming you don’t eat too many).

Skin. Fill a bowl with the pistachios and cover them with boiling water. Let them sit for about 3 minutes until the water is cool enough for you to reach in and pluck out a few pistachios at a time. Squeeze them between your fingers and the skins should slip right off. This step also removes the salt.

Toast. Spread the pistachio on a cookie sheet in a single layer. Toast in the oven for 7-10 minutes until they’re dry and fragrant. Let them cool.

Chop. Chop the pistachios with a knife or pulse a few times in a food processor. You should still have chunks, not a fine powder.

Mix. In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, rose water, and sugar (I use my stand mixer). Add the baking soda, salt, and flour and mix until everything is blended. Mix in 3/4 cup of the pistachios.

Bake. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Shape the dough into two long, skinny loaves (about 15 inches long and 2 inches wide). They will spread a lot during baking, so make sure to leave enough room between them. Sprinkle with the remaining 1/4 cup chopped pistachios and a few pinches of turbinado sugar. Bake for 40 minutes until firm and golden brown.

Cool. Let the loaves cool for about 5 minutes until you can touch them. Lower the oven to 275ºF.

Slice. Slice the loaves on the diagonal into 1/2- to 3/4-inch wide slices.

Bake again. Lay the slices flat on the baking sheet (you may need two) and bake for 10 minutes. Remove the sheet(s) and flip the slices over. Continue baking for another 5 minutes.

Store. Keep the biscotti in an airtight tin or jar. I usually put half of them directly in the freezer to save myself from them.

***

Update 4/14: Here are a few more photos that I took recently for an article in the Forward.

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2 Responses

I hate to break it to you but Israleis would no more drop the sunflower hull into a napkin, casually or otherwise, than an American would eat a hamburger with the fork & knife. Spit’m out more likely, plate maybe, floor more likely.